De l'alcool et des cigarettes
by La Madone
Summary: Ficlets : 'Natasha smiled. Natasha lied. She was terrifying whenever she did it. She was cute when she believed her own lies.'
1. Menteuse

Bonjour/Bonsoir!

Just a few drabbles about Tony and Natasha. Because they're my favorites.

Here's the first one.

**Disclaimer :** Nothing belongs to me.

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_You cannot believe a liar even when he tells the truth._

Aesop

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The first time he saw her with a cigarette between her lips, she was on the balcony, lost in the gloom of night. The sky was dark, way too dark and Natasha was shivering. He didn't say anything about it. He merely looked at her, undressing her with his eyes.

"You didn't say goodbye."

She never did. She would leave then she would come back. No words were said. A few smiles and glances were exchanged but never a goodbye.

The smile on her lips was misleading, the fire in her eyes was distracting.

"Saying goodbye isn't my thing," she replied. Her eyes were dry as if the desert had settled into them. But Tony swore he thought she was about to cry. It must have been a tough mission. He didn't move closer. He could have taken a step foward, held her tight and let her cry. But he didn't, "Saying goodbye would mean I won't come back. I'm always coming back, right, Tony?"

From her mouth, she let the smoke fly away. Her white teeth would have brought the world down. She was too beautiful. Beautiful things always had the worst fates. _Always._ Natasha wasn't an exception. Natasha confirmed the rule.

The coldness of the night wrapped itself around them. She puffed on her cigarette. Again and again. Natasha smiled. Natasha lied. She was terrifying whenever she did it. She was cute when she believed her own lies.

"I like to think that you'll always come back," his eyes were sparkling with such sincerity that Natasha knew that in another life, when the only red she got was the one from her lipstick, she could have loved him—she would have.

She hated him for that somehow. But she wouldn't tell him. That was how she loved her lies. Painful and unspoken.

"When the time comes, I will say goodbye and then you won't see me ever again. As if Natasha Romanov had never existed," she swore, her hand on her heart and the cigarette between her fingers.

He didn't believe her. She was a liar. Her face shone honesty. Her eyes screamed artifice and Tony ended up wondering what she would see in her mirror. Her reflection must be a lie too. An ugly lie in which she had been trapped for too long.

He wished he could have saved her but he couldn't. Because he was just a selfish man. Because Natasha loved destroying herself. They had learnt to live this way. It was fun watching themselves destroying each other.

"Is that a promise, Agent Romanov?"

She just smiled.

She was the most beautiful lie he has ever met.

He didn't know yet, he clearly had no idea but Natasha, this Natasha, he was going to love her more than he should.

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Don't smoke. It's bad.

**Review?**

Bisous.


	2. Imprudente

Hola, I don't know if I like Musso's books but I know I like quoting Musso.

**Disclaimer :** Nothing belongs to me.

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_You are your own refuge_  
_There is no other_  
_You cannot save another_  
_You can only save yourself._

Guillaume Musso

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"You're always running after death," he wasn't lying. Because her forehead was bleeding—she was always bleeding, anywhere, everywhere. Her blood was burning his fingers. "You need to stop doing that. You really need to stop."

She liked listening to his voice. How beautifully he spoke, so soft and imploring. It sounded like a love song whispered against her ear, where the secrets were murmured.

"I'm not afraid of death."

He knew that. She was fearless. They were scared for her though, because she was a small woman. A small woman who needed to be protected from the horrors of the world because she had suffered enough for a lifetime.

_Fear;_ that was good for the others, she said one day. She wouldn't admit it, _ever_, but in her dreams, in her nightmares she was terrified all the time. _So_ terrified that she couldn't move. Coldness would bit her skin, inch by inch and then, she would stop breathing. There was no one to help her. There never was. Nightmare was the land where the only thing she had to face her demons was her own shadow.

"And death is not afraid of you, Natasha," she looked at him. She could read the terror in his eyes. She should look away, really, because she was feeling like someone was stabbing her in the stomach. "Death will wait for you till the end and will welcome you with open arms and _you,_ you'll be smiling because you're fucking _crazy_."

She stayed quiet because Tony was right in a way.

"You're a stupid girl."

He cleaned up her cuts.

"You're a selfish woman."

He tried to fix her. He really did. He wanted to patch up the holes in her walls, the holes in her heart but she won't let him. She was in love with pain. She had always been.

It was cruel and destructive.

"How come Tony Stark gets to play with death and I don't?" she was smiling and he was certain if she had truly wanted to die, she would already be dead by now.

The bruises on her face were ugly as if death had left its traces. Being suicidal did not suit her at all. Soon, she will end up in pieces at his feet and he won't be able to put all her bits together. They won't be able to assemble her anymore.

She didn't even seem to care.

"Because I have a lot of suits but we only have one Natasha. I only have one Natasha."

She was irreplaceable. She was Natasha after all. She couldn't—won't be replaced. He turned away, slammed the door and he didn't even hear Natasha saying that she was sorry.

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I love reckless Natasha though.

**Review?**

Love.


	3. Artificielle

Hey.

I don't really like this drabble. But since I won't be home tomorrow, I decided to post it though.

Thanks for reviewing.

**Disclaimer :** Nothing belongs to me.

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_It is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality._

Vladimir Nabokov

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She didn't know he would be there. He wasn't supposed to be there.

He had shaved off his beard and his mustache. He was wearing glasses and looked a lot younger than he was. But she recognized him, nonetheless, even from distance. She saw him smiling, but not at her because he hadn't seen her yet. He was smiling at some girl.

She was pretty, Natasha noted, with her blond hair and her black dress. She looked like Natasha when she pretended to be true. When she played _at making the others fall in love with her_. She loved her game. She never lost. She always smiled and munched the hearts, just like she munched an apple.

Natasha could leave right now. Tony wouldn't even know she was there. He would go with the girl, then he would promise her the moon, fuck her until they collapse then he would forget everything by the morning.

Natasha didn't care because Tony was an idiot. But then he glanced at her. He smirked like a kid and she would have loved to smack off his smirk. But she couldn't. She would blow her cover.

She just waited for him to come to her. Because he will. They always came and Tony was like any other men.

"You are an idiot," she murmured as he pulled her against him.

He smelt good, awfully good. His scent was intoxicating like poison. His skin was hot, too hot and for moment, she thought something was wrong with him.

"And what about _you_, who are you tonight?" his question was innocent. He didn't sound like himself at all.

He was never himself. Neither was she. Because they had grown up and they had learnt to lie and to fool people. They had learnt how to act and to pretend. Tony played for real. Natasha, you could never know. Because she had played too many roles throughout her life and in some ways, the real Natasha had got lost among all of them.

Tonight, she had blond hair and blue eyes. Her lipstick was too red, her dress was too tight and breathing was becoming difficult and it was all his fault.

He had his eyes closed and his lips ran over Natasha's neck. She trembled and she realized that she shouldn't be with Tony, she shouldn't be in his arms. Because even if both of them knew they weren't in love, right now, they looked like they were.

Tonight, Tony was drunk, not drunk enough to let her go. Not crazy enough to love her just for a one-night stand.

"Lola. Tonight, I'm Lola," she breathed into his ear, her hand on the nape of his neck, playing with his hair.

To him, she was more like a Lolita. Lolita. Lolita. Lolita. That girl who you would fall in love with at each sight. That girl that destroyed everything but you couldn't help but love. Because she was beautiful, Lola. In his arms, she was still Natasha. He would have brought the world at her feet if she had asked him.

"Dance with me, _Lola,_" he whispered, gently.

She didn't say anything. She just let the music invade her body as her steps followed his. He never let go. Neither did she.

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I've never known anyone named Lola. However, I knew a girl named Lolita. She was very special. A total bitch.

**Review?**

Love.


	4. Fragile

Hallo!

I realized I wasn't writing _drabbles_ but _ficlets. _I've been in the dark for so long. Imagine my surprise when I found out the truth.

**Mushu:** Sure, I know Apollinaire. I love him. He's one of my fav french poets with Baudelaire and Victor Hugo.

**Disclaimer :** Nothing belongs to me. Not even Clint.

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_The color of truth is grey._

André Gide

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"It's not true, you know," Tony said. And Natasha didn't turn around. He didn't need her to. He could see her small figure shaking, he could hear her trying hard to chock back a sob. "You're not a bitch or a slut or whatever. Clint didn't mean to, he was just—"

"He was telling the truth."

But the world was full of truths, true or false. Truth changed all the time.

"That was _his_ truth. The truth that comes out when you're mad. The one that's only true when you drank too much or smoked too much. That was _his_ truth_,_" Tony explained. Because he knew the truths. There were true and false ones. He used them all the time. He didn't call himself a liar. He just never told the others what he truly thought or how he truly felt. Because the awful truths hurt. "Look at me, please."

When she turned around, he wished she hadn't. Her face was drowned with her own tears, huge, ugly tears. She was bitting her lower lip hard, so hard that Tony was sure it was going to bleed. It would always end up in blood with Natasha. That was the rule.

"Who am I?" she sounded desperate.

Whatever happened in this room was hurting her. Like a bit of glass stuck in her body, her head, her heart. Clint had told her horrible things. The unspoken things had been said and Tony knew Clint had crossed a line, because Clint had hit where it hurt most.

Tony had heard _her_ trust shattered all over the room.

"Who am I, Tony?"

He didn't know. He never knew. He loved her for what she allowed the world to see of her. He loved her for nothing. Because she was nothing in this wide broken world.

"I wake up and I become _Natalie_ with her mischievous look and her fake smile. Then I go on missions and I become _Rose_ or _Juliet_, a stupid girl who would die of love. Whenever I come back, I have more blood on my hands and _Black Widow_ becomes more than just a name, you know. It sticks to my skin, it burns it, it wrecks me inside. I don't know when I am Natasha anymore. Maybe I've stopped being Natasha."

Her eyes were dry now. So was her face. As if she had never cried. Such a good actress, Tony thought.

"You're my best buddy," Tony simply said. It was his truth—the one he could bear. He didn't like her truth. Because in her truth, her fingers were full of blood and her eyes full of emptiness. In his truth, she still brazed and she still hoped. "You're my gal pal."

She let a sad smile crack her face.

It was odd how words could mean the world when they were finally spoken by the right person. Inside your head the words were invisible and silent, but once they were outside, people caught them and you couldn't take them back anymore. Because it would be cruel.

Tony could see her fragility and she didn't hate him for it. Natasha trusted him with her truths.

She trusted him not to reduce her to ashes.

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I love Clint. He's so tiny. I wanna hug him and kiss him. Because he looks so much like a teddy bear. It's amazing! I'm telling the truth, even if it's just my truth. :)

I happen to have difficulties to choose between false and fake since in french, both are translated by the same word. If anyone could enlighten me? :D

**Review?**

Bis bald.


	5. Aimante

Hello.

My life is so cool. I've turned into zombie since the World Cup started. No need to tell you, I cried my eyes out when France lost last night. I wanted to throw myself out of the window. This was terrible.

I quoted Chamfort. Because Chamfort was a great guy.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me.

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_In love, everything is true, everything is false; it is the one subject on which one cannot express an absurdity._

Nicolas Chamfort

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He found her in his room, sitting on his bed.

He hadn't seen her for weeks. He saw her again only once, on TV, fighting for her life along with Steve; two idiots trying to remake the world on their own. Stupid. Brave but stupid.

"You look horrible," he informed her. She had dark circles under her eyes that were eating her face. She had an immense hole in her eyes. He felt like it was about to swallow her whole.

Her cigarette was burning her lips. Her eyes. _Her whole self_. She didn't care. "I came to say goodbye."

He didn't move from the doorway. He pretented not to feel his heart beating faster.

The smoke was dancing around them, strocking her skin, bitting his heart. He could hear the silence softly cracking. He could see she had already given up. She was ready to leave. Tony knew that in her head, she had already planned everything. Natasha will create someone new, someone perfect. Someone with a new life and new lies.

Maybe in this other life, she would smile for real. Maybe in this other life, she will let happiness drip all over her. Because she deserved happiness. She was too pretty to be unhappy. She smoked up and he realized he didn't want her to leave. He didn't need her in his life. He just wanted her in his life. Surely because he was selfish.

Maybe because he loved her in some ways.

Her hair was lighter, the red of her hair was brighter. She looked younger, as if she could live forever. But her face, her beautiful face was hard, her features drawn, as if death itself had devoured her beauty.

"I won't be Natasha anymore," her hands were shaking hard, so hard that the ashes crashed down, staining his sheets.

He walked towards her. She didn't say anything when he grabbed the cigarette and threw it away from her—away from them. Because their world were already full of terrors, full of horrors that they didn't need to be poisoned from within.

Her lips are dark. She smoked too much. But everything will be okay. Because tomorrow she will colour her mouth with lipstick and she will be beautiful again. He wanted to hold her tight and never let go but she was already leaving. Like the smoke, he could feel her sliding between his fingers.

"You'll always be my Natashalie," he had murmured his words as if it was a secret. Their secret. Her eyes were weeping and Tony could tell the hole in his heart was widening.

"Goodbye, Tony," her lips were an inch from his. But she would never kiss him. Because that was a line that she wasn't ready to cross. Not now. Not ever.

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This is the end (for now) of this collection of ficlets. My laptop is an ass and I need to get it repaired. Hopefully, I'll see you soon.

Thanks for the **reviews** my little rabbits :D

Bisous.


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